In Memoriam
by Fabricated-Sky
Summary: If you remember it, is it true? If you see it, is it real? Ellen and Keats better figure out fast, as they race through the Netherworld once more to contend with Suzette, Oblivion, and their own memories...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everybody! This is Fabricated-Sky, and here is my first fanfic on this account! Written solely because the world needs more Ellen and Keats...think of this as my sequel to Folklore. I sincerely hope you enjoy~!**

**Oh, right. A disclaimer. Well, for the rest of this fanfic (unless otherwise noted), I do not own Ellen, Keats, Suzette, or anyone/thing else that appears in Folklore. The original characters here, however, belong to me.**

* * *

><p>Tap. Tap. Tap.<p>

Inspiration was slow today in the Unknown Realm office, and the article was even slower. Keats absently typed as he stared at the window, glasses slipping and eyes unfocused.

It had been two years since his excursion into Doolin, into the real world. Two years since he had briefly forgotten his nature as a Halflife, and believed himself to be human. Nothing more than a reporter for a dying magazine, a skeptic who didn't believe in the very thing he was. A spirit. A being of the Netherworld.

He shook off the thoughts. It was good that he remembered what he was. It kept him on track, writing new articles for the magazine. Making deadlines for a boss that didn't exist, writing stories interesting enough for an audience that would never read them…

_"I want to be a writer when I grow up. Just like my dad."_

"You're not Herve," Keats muttered to himself, as he began to drum his fingers on the table. "You're a Halflife modeled after vague assumptions of Herve's future…or something. That's all."

_"And would Herve have grown up to be this?"_

Keats glanced at the typewriter. The current page was covered in rows of x's, the result of his mindless typing. Keats pulled the paper out and began to tear it into long, thin strips. He briefly considered asking his boss about investing in a paper shredder, when he reminded himself he didn't have a boss. Just stories.

He ripped the paper faster. A flash of violet energy ran along his skin.

He was Keats. Sir Keats, the Messenger's Guardian, if one was to use the full title Belgae had "honored" him with.

Not Herve.

Not a magazine reporter.

Not a human.

The remaining strips of paper were torn into further shreds, until the bottom of the trashcan resembled a patch of snow.

But focused as he was with his thoughts, Keats failed to notice what was now at the window. Oozing tendrils, pulsating red, violet, black. Pressing against the window, droplets sliding down the glass like thick rain.

Deciding to take his mind off his thoughts, Keats pulled out a dart to toss at the board across the room. He aimed.

There was a crash.

Keats turned around, grip on the dart tightening ever so slightly.

The window shattered, and _something_ crept into the room. Something Keats had seen before, only two years ago. And he felt something he hadn't felt since he mistook himself for human.

Terror.

* * *

><p>Ellen bit her lip, willing her fingers not to tremble as she added the final brush strokes to her painting. While she'd been painting ever since she was a child –which she remembered now- only recently had it become a career. About two years, actually. The critics were impressed by the surreal landscapes and fantastic creatures she painted, unaware of her inspiration. And if she ever fell short on inspiration…well, there were always new realms of the Netherworld, opening for her as she helped others with their problems.<p>

This one, in particular, was of the Faery Realm. She had to be honest; it was her favorite to paint. The colors, the creatures, the memories…

She sighed, grabbing her thinnest brush and dipping it in the violet paint. With it, she added the final touch; the crystal in the scepter of the Faery Lord.

She paused as she removed the brush. After all this time, she still felt sorry about his fate. Sure, he wanted to ruin humanity, had lied to her and all his faery subjects…but without him, would she really have traveled so far into the Netherworld? Would she still be here, painting the Faery Lord and his followers marching through the forest as Brownies and Bug-a-Boo watched them go?

There was no time to wonder about that, because the phone began to ring. Ellen had no time to wipe the paint off her hands before grabbing the phone and answering. "This is Ellen."

"About time. You know how hard it was to track you down?"

The paintbrush in Ellen's other hand fell to the floor.

"…Suzette? Is that you?"

"No, it's the mailman. What do you think?" There was a clatter on the other end of the phone. "Look. You still dealing with…you know…the Netherworld?"

Ellen glanced at her painting. "I am. I thought you didn't believe me."

"Let's just say I've found some…compelling evidence." There was a pause, and Ellen imagined she heard heavy footfalls and a creaking door. "Something's following me. It's not human, it's not normal, and…"

"…And?" Static was beginning to crackle through the line. "Suzette! What is it?"

There was a muffled shout, and Ellen thought she heard, "What're you doing? You can't hide him there! They're going to find you!" Then her voice came clearly through the phone again. "I can't explain now. Meet me in Oakland, California."

The line disconnected with a crack. Ellen stood there, her mind still racing.

"Suzette…California…in America?" Ellen placed the phone back on the hook, and began to pace. "What could be following Suzette? I suppose a Halflife could be at fault, but…why her…isn't Oakland a city? Wouldn't a Halflife be obvious?"

Ellen felt something crunch under her shoe. She glanced down, realizing she just broke her brush. She picked it up with a sigh, deciding she'd have to buy a new one.

But first, it was time to book a plane ticket and a hotel reservation.

* * *

><p>To be honest, Ellen was happy she was in the back of the plane. Aside from a couple of college students and one mother dealing with her fussy children, it was mostly empty. Ellen even had a row to herself, complete with a window seat.<p>

Despite all the wonders of the Netherworlds she'd visited, she'd never been above the clouds. Well, not unless one counted Hellrealm –which she didn't, because the clouds were more like brimstone. These were real clouds, fluffy white clouds with bright blue skies.

She couldn't help but imagine creatures flitting in and out of the clouds. Folk with wings like knives, folk spinning through the air with maddening but beautiful screams, folk hiding inside the clouds who would only come forth when the lightning struck…

_"That's the Netherworld, Ellen. Not this world. Don't get them mixed up now."_

She sighed and leaned back in her seat. Yes, to her, the worlds had been blurring quite a bit. Each time she visited the Netherworld, its wonder became more believable. More real. Especially now that her paintings were out in the world, and others could see what she saw, unaware of the truth behind it all.

_"But,"_ Ellen told herself, _"I know. I know what's real now. And I won't lose sight of it."_

With this, Ellen turned her attention back toward the window…

…Only to be distracted when she heard a crash in the seat behind her. Odd, because hers was the second-to-last seat, and she didn't remember anyone sitting behind her. Curious, and hoping no one was harmed, Ellen glanced over.

A man with disheveled brown hair and a long blue coat was lying on the floor. His normally white shirt was soaked with red, and his spectacles were cracked.

"…Keats?"

He was barely grumbling and stirring before Ellen rushed out of her seat and over to him. She couldn't see any bleeding wounds, though his shirt and vest were fairly shredded. There were long red welts along what she could see of his chest, however, as if he'd been relentlessly whipped.

"Keats?" Ellen repeated. "Are you alright?"

"Ugh…bloody…" Keats managed to sit up, one hand pressed against his head. "Depends on where I am, I guess."

"We're on an airplane. How did you…" Ellen paused, helping Keats up onto a seat. "How did you get here?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself." He managed a chuckle as he leaned back. "Another mystery, I'm sorry to say. Don't suppose this is in the Netherworld?"

Ellen shook her head. "We're heading to America, actually."

"Then unless 'Land of the Free' really means 'Land of the Dead,' I should be…" Keats began coughing, and Ellen noticed flecks of red peppering his sleeve. "…Fine."

"What happened?" She couldn't stop her words from speeding out of her mouth; it had been two years since their last meeting, after all. How could two years seem both like no time at all and forever at once?

"I was attacked by…by…" Keat was slowly wavering where he sat, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "It was…Oblivion…?"

"Oblivion? Why-" He slumped over in his seat. "-Keats! Keats, wake up!"

In front of her, passengers were staring at the back of the plane, and flight attendants were rushing back and forth. And Ellen just sat there, holding an unconscious Halflife in her arms, as his last word echoed in her mind.

_"Oblivion…" _


	2. Chapter 2

Keats' dreams were blurry, viewed through a fog of pain. There was a mesh of colors and familiar screams –perhaps he was the one screaming. Then there was an ocean, an endless blue that swallowed up the horizon. The waves lapping at his feet brought him to comfortable numbness.

The next dream was that he was with Ellen again. She seemed older, more confidant, than before. Also more concerned. That dream gave way to white, and he was…

_"Herve! I can't believe how you've grown up."_

Someone was tying his tie for him. All he saw of the face was a smile, and the voice…whose voice was that? It was a voice he knew, but…

_"Oh don't mind me. Just dust in my eyes…ah, my little boy…"_

Okay, he had to be dreaming. Considering that he wasn't Herve, and wasn't anyone's little boy. Well, he might technically be Ellen and Livane's, but…

"Keats?"

Who was that? This voice sounded far more real…

"Keats!" Someone was shaking his shoulders, and the pain in his side returned full-force. He jolted awake with a gasp, as his dreams faded into nothingness.

The first thing he realized was that Ellen was the one shaking him, but once he opened his eyes, she was smiling. "Oh, good. Scared me for a minute there."

Keats groaned, sitting up and examining his surroundings. First, he was in a small bed, with bandages wrapped around his torso. The room itself was also small, with pale walls, a few generic nature paintings, a window, and a few pieces of furniture. The sounds of trains and traffic drifted through the walls.

"Still not the Netherworld, I assume?" Keats muttered. In a way, it looked like his office, but noisier and with less clutter.

"Nope. We're in Oakland, California." Ellen was now seated on the edge of the bed, and Keats finally got a good look at her. She didn't look much older, though her hair was far shorter, and she wasn't as pale as she'd been in Doolin. She didn't look as lost, either. In fact, though she still had that dreamy look in her eyes, she seemed…stronger, somehow.

Or perhaps it only seemed that way because Keats…wasn't at his strongest at the moment, to say the least.

"Oakland. Got it. Why Oakland, of all places?" Keats adjusted his glasses and added, "Last I checked, California was a far cry from the U.K."

Ellen smoothed out her skirt. "…Suzette's here. She asked for my help. I've yet to find her, though."

"Because you're not used to a big city?"

"Because I had to make sure you're alright." Ellen's smile was chased away by worry. "Speaking of which, why are you here? I thought you were staying home at the office."

Keats winced, as he remembered what occurred at the office. "Seems my office is being swallowed up by Oblivion. Almost took me with it."

"But why?" There was a sudden, sharp hiss. "Oh! The tea…I'll go get it."

Keats smirked as Ellen darted off to grab the tea –some things never changed, did they? "Not sure. Perhaps since I was the only one in my realm, it was deemed…unnecessary." He shrugged, which caused him to wince again. "Didn't realize it was at all sentient. Or had tendrils, for that matter."

Ellen was quiet as she poured two cups of tea. She gave one to Keats upon returning. He'd never been a fan of tea (he honestly preferred ale any day), but at least the smell cleared his head.

"Since you're here…" Ellen muttered, "And since you can't go back to your office right now…"

Keats shook his head. "I know what you're going to ask. You want me to come with you."

"You are my guardian, after all." Ellen's smile returned as she sipped her tea. "Besides, it won't be very long. Probably a quick trip to the Netherworld, and we'll be done."

"This _is_ Suzette we're talking about," Keats argued. He tentatively sipped the tea, careful not to spill it –especially since he realized that his shirt was gone. Granted, it was bloody and torn, but…

There was another pause; Keats wondered if, perhaps, Ellen was still timid as she was two years ago. "It was nice. When we went through the Netherworld together." She looked up at him. "I'm not asking you to come as my Guardian, if that's what you're worried about. I know how to care for myself now." She took another sip and finished, "I want you to come as my…friend. My friend who always searches for a new story."

Keats smirked –he figured she'd pull the 'friend' card on him. Though he had to admit, the story bit was a nice touch. However, he had to say-

_"An adventure? Someday we'll go on an adventure, Cecelia. I promise."_

The remembered words were accompanied by the gleeful thanks of a young girl, barely intelligible amidst her laughter.

Keats mentally groaned, but before he could stop himself, he replied, "Can't argue with that. We should get started –I don't suppose you know where I can get a shirt?"

Ellen smiled, and Keats remembered –_"No, imagined, this isn't _your_ memory"_ –Cecilia smiling as well, with a wide grin and large green eyes. "Already picked up a spare. Sure you're ready to go?"

"Now's as good a time as any," Keats responded, setting the tea cup aside and climbing out of bed. Sore, but not too bad off; he'd probably feel better after absorbing some energy in the Netherworld. Which, it seemed, he had no choice but to travel to. Why did he even agree to this?

Oh well. Too late to back down now. Ellen handed him a shirt –green, just like his old tie- and he shrugged it on. He found his coat on the back of the chair, alongside a suitcase and a few notes on the table. Before he could examine the notes, Ellen was already waiting by the door.

_"Ready to go, Cecilia?"_

"Her name's Ellen now," Keats murmured under his breath. He felt a twinge inside, like there was something _wrong_ with that statement. He shoved the thought aside, and joined Ellen at the door.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, you don't have her phone number?"<p>

Ellen shrugged, as her fingers fumbled with the map. Without a vehicle, she was relying on the bus system to get her through Oakland. If only this map wasn't so confusing…

"How do you expect to find her if you can't contact her?" Keats asked. He was leaning against the bus stop sign, as did an old man with three trash bags full of cans. Each looked ready to burst, reminding Ellen of a bloated Mnemosyne. Did they look the different here in America, she wondered? Did any of the folk?

"Ellen? I asked you a question."

"Oh. Right." Ellen sighed, returning her attention to the map. "I was going to ask around. Figure out where the Halflives dwell here, see if they know anything."

"Which wouldn't take long at all, in a city such as this. If she's even still in Oakland at all…" Keats shrugged. "Personally, I'd suggest hitting the clubs."

"You probably shouldn't drink too much, you know. You're just getting better."

Keats managed a rueful laugh. "I didn't suggest it for me. Young adults like Suzette frequent clubs, and it's easy to lose people in a crowd." Adjusting his glasses, Keats added, "In fact, Suzette is probably listening to some start-up punk band as we speak. Bet she's in the middle of a mosh pit."

Ellen raised an eyebrow. There was an odd note of humor to Keats' voice, as if this was typical of Suzette. "I didn't know she liked punk."

Keats blinked, before clearing his throat and adjusting his tie. "Well, she seems the type, I mean. And I swear she mentioned…" He shook his head, then glanced up the road. "Say, that our bus?"

Quickly turning to her map, Ellen nodded. She barely got the map folded and her money out before the bus stopped. For evening, the bus was surprisingly full, with all seats taken. The old man wrestled his bags into a corner, as Ellen and Keats stood in the middle of the bus.

Ellen kept her eyes peeled for anything strange outside. Not everyone could see Halflives, so they sometimes wandered around towns unnoticed. In fact, Ellen reminded herself, there were those who probably couldn't see Keats. She glanced at him; he was scribbling down notes on a pad of paper he'd "borrowed" from the hotel, so she couldn't catch his expression.

As Ellen brought her gaze back to the city, something caught her eyes. A woman dressed in nothing more than a white dress stained with red, her hair and eyes both pools of black. She weaved in and out of the way of pedestrians, never blinking, never wavering. If Ellen watched her closely enough, she could see wisps of smoke trailing from her skin.

"Found one." She practically slammed the Request Stop button, and was out the door as soon as the bus slowed to a halt. Keats yelled after her as she ran past civilians, who also began to shout. Just ahead, the woman in white turned down an alleyway. Ellen quickened her pace. She had to catch up.

The alleyway was empty.

Ellen stumbled to a stop, as someone shouted after her. Her eyes darted around the alleyway. Bricks with spray paint. Trash cans. Shards of metal and glass.

A hand rested on her shoulder. "If your plan was to get Suzette's attention by making a scene…"

"I saw a Halflife." Ellen caught her breath before turning to Keats. "A lady in white. I swear she turned this way."

Keats hummed, as he strode into the alleyway. He slowed his steps around some of the graffiti signs before stopping.

"Ah. Ellen; over here."

Ellen wandered over, as Keats pointed out one particular sign. Unlike the others, which looked spray-painted on, this appeared to be painted in. The picture itself appeared to be a mask, but the lines were actually tiny symbols.

"Recognize them?" Keats asked. "They're in the same language as the Netherworld picture books."

"Oh?" It took a moment to dawn on her. "Oh! Er, can you read what it says?"

"Let's see…" Keats bent over to read, occasionally mumbling under his breath. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a refuge for Halflives. As for getting in…" He turned to Ellen. "Have any mementos of the dead on you?"

"…Does it have to be recent?" Ellen lifted the pendent she wore around her neck. The one her mother, Ingrid, had left her with years before. "Or do you think this will do?"

"It's worth a shot."

Ellen slipped her necklace off, and pressed it against the wall. The words began to glow in red, before fading away –along with the wall.

"After you." Keats glanced at the sidewalk to make sure no one else was watching, as Ellen ducked into the hole in the wall. While she wasn't sure what this building normally was, the room she entered was another pub, like the Bridge House in Doolin. This one was filled with swirling red smoke, the silhouettes of the Halflives barely distinguishable. Despite being unable to see them well, however, they could apparently see her. The forms started shifting, and Ellen caught a few glowing lights aimed at her.

"Thought I told you to shut the door," growled a voice. Once he spoke, the other voices began to fade away.

"I _did,_" retorted the second, a woman's voice. Ellen assumed that was the woman in white.

Keats stepped in moments later, having to duck in order to fit. The bricks began to rebuild behind him. "Hope we didn't interrupt the party," he muttered to Ellen.

"You there!" Called the growling voice. "Who do you think you are, stumbling in here?"

Ellen tried to see where the voice was coming from, but to be honest, it seemed to come from everywhere. "My name is…Ellen. I'm a Messenger to the Netherworld. Accompanying me is my Guardian, Keats." When no one responded, she continued, "May I…speak with whoever's in charge here?"

"You may." A door creaked as it swung open, and a figure marched forward in the mist. Up close, the Halflife was slightly taller than Ellen, humanoid save for his two extra arms and finned tail. His skin was turquoise and black, contributing to an amphibian appearance. He didn't wear much aside from a t-shirt and jeans, and in general, he didn't seem to fit his voice. It was like an Annwn with the voice of a Barghest.

The other silhouettes turned away as Ellen began to speak. "Thank you…sir. You see, a friend of mine seems to be followed by something related to the Netherworld. I've…yet to find her, but I was wondering if anyone had seen her, or what was following her."

One of the Halflife's hands began to stroke his chin, as two others rested in his pockets. "Usually, I'd refuse you. But you sound…foreign. Like someone else who came by. Who's your friend?"

"Our acquaintance is named Suzette," Keats answered, once again placing a hand on Ellen's shoulder. "We're all from Ireland. Don't suppose you've stumbled across her?"

The figure's face tightened. He turned back to the crowd and called, "Angel! Get to the meeting room!" Returning his attention to the duo, he lowered his voice. "We need to talk someplace more…private. Let's just say, we think your friend has attracted something dangerous."

Ellen's heart dipped into her stomach. She put a hand on Keats' before following her informant through the ruby-smoke room.


	3. Chapter 3

The back room was clear of smoke. The room was filled with crates, from the walls to the makeshift table and chairs. The woman in white and the amphibious man were already seated when Ellen and Keats entered, eyes trained on these strangers.

"Name's Wryalt," growled the amphibious man. One hand went around the woman in white as he added, "We call this 'un Angel." He glanced at Angel and added, "These two are after that Suzette girl."

Angel nodded, as Ellen sat on one of the crates. Keats remained standing behind her.

"Is she alright, at least?" Ellen asked. "All I got was a phone call that something was following her. Do you know where she is?"

"One at a time, kid." Angel brushed her black hair aside. Ellen realized her fingers were covered in flecks of red. "She's not hurt, but I don't think she's right in the head."

"She's never been," Keats stated, tapping his pencil on his notepad. "Go on."

"The problems started when she saw Angel here," Wryalt stated. Two of his hands pulled out a deck of cards and began to play without him paying attention. "Most people can't see her –just the young, the crazy, and a few exceptions. We figured Suzette was one of the last two."

"She tried to follow me," Angel continued. "Much like you did, actually –don't give me that look. You're a little hard to miss."

Ellen blushed, but her face remained concerned. "Regardless of what Suzette is…what happened?"

Both Angel and Wryalt took in deep breaths before Angel hissed, "I'll tell the story. Now, sit tight both of you. I'll try not to take long; the last thing I want to do is spend my night telling stories…"

* * *

><p>"We noticed Suzette as soon as she arrived in Oakland. Came to move in with some friends of hers. Don't ask me why she stuck out to us…maybe because she'd actually stare back when she caught us looking."<p>

"Spoke to us? Never. She just…looked at us. Half amazement, half worry, like she was going mad. Can't say I blame her. At least she didn't scream at us like that man in the Laurel district…"

"Right. Well, we had no problems from Suzette, but around that time, we started to notice…someone else. I didn't even realize he was a Halflife at first. Like you, Keats, and myself, he looked fairly human."

"…Of course I look human. You think otherwise?"

"Regardless, he did look human, from a distance. Description? Ah…about Suzette's height. Black hair, slightly tanned skin. Covered in scars. Tends to dress in army slacks and a leather jacket. That's the human bit. Things get odd when you realize his left arm's clockwork. His hand is, at least. All clockwork and metal. And I swear he left red puddles in his wake, like glowing blood-"

"I'm getting to when I saw him. Let me finish. Wryalt, could you get me a drink? Amontillado, if you have it –you know what a sucker I am for its story."

"Where was I? Right, the Halflife. It was a few days ago. It was late at night, and I was walking over for my Amontillado –which, speak of the devil, here it is now. You're a doll, Wryalt."

"Anyway, Suzette comes up to me, and surprise, grabs me by the shoulders. I was surprised as you are –humans don't see us often, much less touch us. Isn't it weird then they do that? But I forget, one of us here is still human."

"As I was saying, Suzette grabs me. And she says, "You're one of them, aren't you? One of the dead." And before I can explain, she says, "I've got one of you following me. Tell him to cut it out –I'm done with his shit, and he won't listen to me." No, I don't know why she thought I could do anything."

"I looked behind Suzette, and there the guy was. Just standing behind her, completely blank. I asked him what his name was, and he says, "Baron." And I ask him what he's doing, and he doesn't answer. At this point, Suzette's storming off, and Baron tries to follow. I try to hold him back, ask him to explain what his deal is, leave the girl alone. Tells me he can't."

"Then Suzette stops, about a block away, and gets a phone call. From the sound of it, she was being harassed by some guy called Mick. Not sure how serious it was, but she got fed up. At one point, she said, "Drop dead" before hanging up the phone."

"Then she froze, and slowly turned to face us. But Baron was already gone. Last thing I heard from him was the sound of metal, like a knife being unsheathed."

"…The body of a man named Michael Florence was found soon afterwards. Left on the train tracks, and full of stab wounds. Far as I know, no one's connected Suzette to anything."

"But yeah, that's all we know, so far. That's all she wrote."

* * *

><p>Ellen's hands were clenched into fists, pressed against her knees to keep from shaking. Keats was finishing his notes, pen flying across the page. Angel took a drink of her wine, as Wryalt fished for something in his pocket with one hand while continuing his card game with two others.<p>

"Hope that's enough info for you," Angel stated, "'Cause that's all I know, and I don't feel like finding out more."

"That's…" Ellen wasn't sure how to finish her sentence. The person Suzette spoke to ended up dead. Had Suzette murdered him? Surely, after Doolin, her "dark urges" to kill were gone. That's why she left. That's what she ran from. So why was death following her now?

"Has anyone seen Suzette or this Baron figure since?" Keats asked, his eyes obscured by the light glaring on his glasses. His voice was stern and neutral; the voice of a reporter not taking sides, just getting his story.

"No. One of our fellows found Mick's body, however." Wryalt pulled out a pocket watch, silver tinged with black. "You said you're a Messenger, right? This should help, if you want to dig deeper."

Angel gaped at Wryalt, nearly spilling her drink. "You're helping them?"

"Who else is going to deal with the girl and that…thing?" One hand offered the pocket watch to Ellen, as the rest began to pick up the cards. "You taking this, girl, or did we waste our time?"

Ellen took the pocket watch, taking a closer look at it. It was relatively simple; circular with a groove along the perimeter, with a thin chain and a button on the side. When opened, the time was stopped at 6:06.

Getting to her feet, Ellen bowed to Wryalt and Angel. "You didn't waste your time. I promise, we'll sort things out." She turned to Keats. "You ready?"

"…I suppose." Keats placed his notepad back in his coat, then followed Ellen out of the room. "Do you still have to offer the memento at a Henge of some sorts?"

Ellen shook her head. "No. Some place with a strong connection to death works fine." She ignored the stares of other Halflives as she strode out of the smoky room, appearing back in the alleyway. "We just need to find someplace close…I'm sure I can find something."

Clutching the pocket watch to her chest, Ellen tried to sense where such a place could be. She'd discovered that, if she kept an open mind, she could…well, it wasn't exactly feeling, but she could tell where offering places like the Henge could be found. It was like a slight pull, leading her in the right direction.

Where…where…

"This way." Ellen grabbed Keats' hand, pulling him along in the direction she felt. As he stammered that he could walk fine by himself, the moon shone above them as they ran into the night.


End file.
